


last year's wishes are this year's apologies

by trustingno1



Series: Season/Series 3 Alternate and Missing Scenes [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Discussions of grief, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingno1/pseuds/trustingno1
Summary: "She's sad because - are you really not getting this?" John interrupts himself, rhetorical and incredulous, "She's sad because it's Christmas and she's thinking about Tom."Tom?Sherlock nods once, slowly; turns back to the microscope. "I see."(He doesn't).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene from _His Last Vow_ , because that's the last episode I remember. ;)

 

 **Finished with the liver.** Sherlock looks up from his microscope and glances at the text; no exclamation marks, no funny little faces - no great loss, he'll admit, but - no, **Just don't tell me what you needed it for!** _,_ no **But it didn't come from me!**

"Molly seems-" he pauses. Dismisses _melancholy, despondent_ , _depressed_ and frowns at the simplicity of - "sad?" he ventures (and it's not a particularly impressive deduction, even he can admit).

"Ye-es," John says, from across the kitchen table, turns a page of the newspaper (evidently in agreement with his assessment of the observation). Doesn't expand.

"What for?" he asks, after a beat.

"Sherlock," John says, a little disbelievingly, looking up.

"What?" Sherlock asks, with an irritable twitch of his shoulders, and John folds up the paper.

"It's _Christmas_ ," John says, and Sherlock blinks at him.

"Had noticed," he manages, and John allows it with a tilt of his head.

"She's sad because - are you really not getting this?" he interrupts himself, rhetorical and incredulous, "She's sad because it's Christmas and she's thinking about Tom."

 _Tom?_ Sherlock nods once, slowly, turns back to the microscope. "I see."

(He doesn't).

"Sherlock," John says again, like he knows he should be appalled. "Her fiancé?" he raises his eyebrows. "Or - ex-fiancé," he corrects, brow furrowing (and John's forehead is so distractingly fascinating-)

Ah. Yes. Rings a bell. But the battle between the desire to make John laugh and to understand this wages _fierce_ and fast -

"That was ages ago," he says, reaching for another slide, "Why would she still be upset?"

And because John has chronicled their lives together, because John remembers those first few hours and days almost as clearly as _he_ does (breathless and wide-eyed and so obviously on the verge of something special), John hides his laugh behind his fist. "Bit not good," is all he says, lightly, as he stands. "Tea?"

Conversation clearly over, he hums in the affirmative (Sherlock usually makes the tea, but John clearly needs to get _away_ from this), listens to the bustle of John moving around the kitchen (confidently; cupboard doors opening just once, and John had wasted no time undoing all of the changes Janine had made to the kitchen).

John adds sugar to one of the mugs, stirring for longer than necessary, teaspoon knocking gently against the ceramic, as he stares at the cupboard (stares at the cupboard while Sherlock stares at his back, stares at _John_ in the Baker Street kitchen again-)

When he turns around, mugs in hand, Sherlock averts his glance, murmurs his thanks when John places one of the mugs in front of him -

can't help glancing up in surprise when John pulls out his chair again. He wraps his hands around his mug, loosely and licks his lips just once. "Grief is ... a funny thing," John says - so obviously something his therapist told him and Sherlock clenches his teeth at the triteness - and John holds up a finger "No, just, hang on-" he breaks off.

Curious, Sherlock waits.

"She's ... grieving for him, yes," John tries again, "But. When you ... lose ... someone. You grieve for them, and you grieve for the future you've lost." _Ella again?_ Sherlock wonders. "You're mourning ... what could've been. You ... Molly would've imagined a future with him. The first Christmas without him will be ... hard."

Sherlock narrows his eyes slightly. _First_ Christmas? Significance? And how long does this _persist_ -

John blows out a breath through slightly-pursed lips; irritated, yes, but - his posture, his hands, both back around the mug again - not irritated at _Sherlock_ , no, nor at the conversation. Irritated at - his inability to explain it? Not conclusive, yet.

John peers into his tea for a moment, collects his thoughts, before glancing up again.

"Seeing something he would've liked, and not buying it," John's gaze drifts away for a moment, "Being invited to Christmas parties without him. Not hanging his stocking over the fireplace." John's smile is crooked, a bit sad.

Sherlock squints. "Molly doesn't have a fireplace," he points out.

John's expression shutters. "They're just examples, Sherlock," he says, "Hypotheticals," he amends.

He's done something wrong, but he's not sure _what_. "John-"

John shakes his head, once, cuts off a stiff apology Sherlock's still formulating.

He clears his throat and says, instead, "Do we say anyth-"

"No," John says, firmly, before he's even _finished_ , "Absolutely not." Rude.

He glances back down at the slide, blankly, inexplicable pressure in his chest; did John imagine a future with Mary?

(Must've; he married her, after all).

(Did he imagine a Sussex cottage (one bedroom or two? He oscillates; depends on how bold he's feeling), arm chairs angled towards each other, close enough that their feet can nudge and press -

"I'm turning in," John murmuring, hair noticeably greyer, laugh lines deeper - then, at the non-committal grunt, smile slowly becoming _decidedly_ more flirtatious, "You coming?"

(one bedroom, this time).

Did he imagine an easy early-morning kiss on the way out the door, just their mouths touching, a mumbled, "Tell the bees I want you back for lunch" -

no, _no_ , John would never have imagined _bees_ -

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

no - _wrong_ \- John wouldn't have needed to imagine that

(already had it)).

He chances a glance back up at John, who's opened the newspaper again; John, who's been working through his grief with Ella, who -

no.

(No?)

He pauses. Frowns.  Why 'no'?

Start again. John. Therapy - _no._

(Ah).

 _(no unexplained absences from the flat, never returning from "a walk" with a set jaw and dark look and there's something that doesn’t_ quite _-)_

Sherlock waves a hand in front of his face, dismissively; tries to re-fit the facts as John smiles at him, without looking up from the paper -

_(the nothing but cold fury John displays towards the woman they know as Mary Morstan - the pronouns - the best Christmas John ever had)_

\- and when everything settles again, in a new order, he's left with -

"Oh."

John does look up, then. "Oh?" he echoes, amused, and Sherlock stares at him.

He swallows. "You," he tries, and John's grip on the paper tightens for a moment (and he can _see_ the moment John consciously relaxes his hand. Steels himself for the conversation. And perhaps it's cowardice, perhaps _kindness_ -) "You miss Tom," he says, mouth as dry as his voice.

John's _face_ \- confusion, surprise, relief, disappointment

_(disappointment?)_

\- just micro expressions, but enough -

"Yeah," John says, relaxing into a grin. "I really do." He lets out a steady breath. Sherlock allows himself to smile back at John, just a little. Enough. But.

_(disappointment._ That's enough to be going on with). 


End file.
